


Informality

by allisondraste



Series: Roses and Thorns [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Nontoxic Masculinity, Zevran and Alistair Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisondraste/pseuds/allisondraste
Summary: A discussion of Antivan courtship leaves Zevran offended that Alistair has never been taught to dance.  He decides it must be rectified.





	Informality

The camp was quiet, unusually so.  Little could be heard above the crackling of the fire except for Oghren’s heavy belch-laced breathing, occasionally punctuated by a chuckle at nothing.  It was a stark contrast from Zevran’s gentle humming as he carefully polished a set of newly acquired daggers.  Sten stood silently at the far reaches of the camp, grumbling about inadequate defenses or something equally practical.  It was easy to miss the subtle life that the others brought to camp as they milled about, when he couldn’t take his attention from her. Maker, he was pathetic.

“They’ve been gone for a while,” he remarked to no one in particular, an attempt to break the unusual and uncomfortable silence left behind by his companions.

“Worried about our friends?” A mischievous smile crossed Zevran’s face, and looked up from his blades.

“Mildly concerned, yes.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s dark. We’re in the forest. There are darkspawn literally everywhere. It doesn’t seem like the best time to take a bath.”

“Oh, I envy them.  Naked and wet, basking in the light from the moon,” Zevran inspected his daggers before returning them to their sheathes. His nonchalance had reached new levels of impressive. “It’s quite thrilling!”

“Yes, yes. The thought of Lucia getting ambushed by genlocks while completely unarmored is very thrilling.” Alistair gestured emphatically as he spoke. “Just like a nightmare.”

“Ah. I see.” Another smile spread across Zevran’s lips, and he raised his eyebrows as if he knew something Alistair didn’t.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He hated when people looked at him like that.

“Have you told her how you feel?” Zevran leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Alistair from across the fire.

“That obvious, huh? Damn.” He turned his head and looked towards the camp entrance, as if he expected her to walk in at any moment. “I want to, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, you know? I’m not even sure if she feels the same way.”

“I believe she does. That look she gives you… I would kill for someone to look at me the way Lucia looks at you, my friend.” Zevran laughed slightly and leaned back. “Actually, I’ve killed for a lot less, but you understand the sentiment, yes?”

Alistair’s discomfort and self consciousness grew as the conversation plummeted deeper into his relationship with Lucia. He wished he had never encouraged it. Zevran meant well, he knew that, but it wasn’t like he had not tried to tell her how he felt. He actually had, on multiple occasions. She had this wall up, almost always. It protected her, but it also kept him from knowing how she felt. Sometimes, he almost believed he could see past it.  It was in brief moments, such as those when he told her that she impressed him or after he gave her that stubborn rose.  There was not much he wouldn’t do for those moments.

“I-,” he began to explain, but thought better of it, knowing it was not a conversation he wanted to have, “Listen, can we just… change the subject, please.”

“Say no more. It was not my intent to upset you.” Zevran offered a reassuring smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I am still not accustomed to Fereldan courtship. In Antiva, everything was more direct.”

“Oh yeah?” Alistair perked up, his interest piqued. “How so? Let me guess: poetry?”

“No, no.  Poetry is still quite subtle. Quite Orlesian.” The mischievous look returned to his face as he explained. “When we Antivans fancy someone, we tease, touch, and lavish them with compliments. Some people even sing to their lovers, but that can be a bit much at times, even for me. I’ve always favored dancing, myself.”

“Dancing? Good thing I’m not Antivan, then, huh?” Alistair laughed and scratched the back of his head. It also boded well for him that Lucia was not Antivan, as she did not seem to be the type of person who would be wooed by serenades and dances.  He could stand to lavish her with a few more compliments. She did seem fond of those, after all.

“Wait. You mean to say you do not know how to dance?” He seemed offended, as if Alistair’s inability to dance was a personal slight.

“It wasn’t exactly essential knowledge for feeding the mabari,” he explained, arms crossed, furrowing his brows, “And then when I was sent to the Chantry, well, you know how they feel about dancing.”

“Alistair, you must learn to dance! You never know when you’ll have to dance yourself out of a sticky situation… or into one.” Zevran stood up in a needlessly dramatic fashion and approached him, hand extended. “Come, I shall teach you.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” he said with a laugh, “I’ve got the whole ‘clumsy’ reputation to uphold and all.”

Zevran raised his eyebrows in response, keeping his hand extended.  He shook his head when Alistair asked if there was any possibility of getting out of this lesson.

“Alright, fine.” Alistair took his hand and allowed Zevran to help him up. “Just know, when I tell this story in the future, I’m going to say I fought this a lot harder.”  

The two walked to an open area just at the edge of camp, where Lucia’s dogs would have been had they not accompanied her and the others to the spring. Lucky for Alistair, as Rune and Fang didn’t seem to like him very much.  He didn’t actually hate the idea of learning how to dance, and this seemed as good of a time as any, as weird as the thought of dancing with Zevran was. He fidgeted about uncomfortably as he awaited instruction.

“One of the first things to do when dancing is who decide will lead and who will follow,” Zevran explained matter-of-factly, before looking up at Alistair and smiling. “We will take turns.  I’ll lead first, so you can learn the steps, and then you can try.”

“Okay, but I’m more of the following type, so good luck with that second part.”  He watched as Zevran moved to stand slightly less than arm’s length in front of him, and began to explain the starting position,  hand on back, hand on shoulder, hand on hand.  

As they stood in position, Zevran continued to speak. “In formal settings the lead places their hand on the follower’s upper back, but if you are feeling familiar,” he said the word with a suggestive flair, “You can always move it down to the waist.”  He slid his hand down from Alistair’s back to slightly too far past his waist.

“That’s not my waist, Zevran,” Alistair spoke through gritted teeth, causing his instructor to quickly move his hand back to its original position.”

“Accident, I swear,” he laughed, “You are so tall, and I miscalculated.”

“Right.”

“You do have a nice ass, though.”

“I know. It’s one of my better features.  Now, are we going to dance or must we flirt some more?”

Zevran smiled and shook his head as he began to explain the footwork.  He referred to it as a box, and it was simple enough.  The lead stepped forward, to the right, then back, while the follower did the inverse.  They practiced a few steps, Alistair surprising himself by keeping the rhythm, and not forgetting any of the motions.  Gentle pressure from Zevran’s hands indicated the next step direction.

“Once you feel comfortable, you can move about more.”  Zevran demonstrated, loosening up his movements to glide across the grass, guiding Alistair to turn with him every few sets of steps.  After several sets of movements they came to a stop and parted. “Perfecto! Now, you lead.”

“Alright, but I warned you, leading is not my strong suit.”  He took Zevran’s hand in his, placing the unoccupied hand on his waist.

“Feeling familiar are we,” Zevran teased as he placed his remaining hand on Alistair’s shoulder, “If I had known you felt this way, I would have acted on it much sooner.”

Alistair scowled at his dance partner. “You touched my ass. I think I’m more than entitled to informality.”  

“Absolutely.”

It took Alistair a few stumbling steps to fall back into the rhythm of the dance, and it took him a few stumbling steps more to figure out how to use his hands to signal new movements. Still, it was not as difficult as he expected it to be.  In fact, he actually found himself enjoying it, becoming more and more confident with each movement.  He didn’t see himself using it to impress Lucia, or any other woman for that matter, but he saw why Zevran valued it, and he was grateful for the opportunity to learn something of which he had been deprived by his less than ideal childhood. The two stopped dancing at the sound of dogs barking, signaling their friends’ return.  

“Say Zevran,” Alistair said as they returned to their respective seats by the fire.

“Yes, Alistair?”

“Do you think we could do this again?” He asked, feeling the heat of the blush that crawled across his cheeks. “Er, I mean, are there other dances I could learn?”

Zevran chuckled as he answered, “Yes, of course, my friend.  Anytime.”


End file.
